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Maelys Targaryen
Maelys Targaryen is the second child and firstborn son of King Aemon I Targaryen and his late wife Ceryse Hightower. He was born shortly after his twin sister, Naerys Targaryen. He is the current Prince of Dragonstone, and is a knight. Appearance Silver hair, once straight in his youth, has since evolved into a mess of curls, running loose down the back of his neck. His hair is of middling length; though it is more than a few inches long, it is short enough that, if left to its own devices, it will not fall in front of his face. Violet eyes complete a handsome face--rugged, more than anything. Though usually clean-shaven, he will, on occasion, adopt a short stubble. The weakness of his youth has long since been left behind. None would call him the strongest, but the layer of muscle that ripples beneath tanned skin is evidence that he is stronger than most. The opulence of his attire is matched only by Lannisters and Essosi. He garbs himself in silks, velvets, and furs of a hundred different sorts. The servants often joke that, were one to steal even a fraction of his many rings and necklaces, they could hire a mercenary company and become the next King of the Stepstones. They exaggerate, of course, but the spirit of the message remains. He stand at about 6’1, and weighs around 175 pounds. History Maelys was born in the Fourth Moon of 352 AC on the island of Dragonstone. He was not the first child born to the Queen that day--Naerys had that honor--but his arrival was a pleasant surprise. He was hot on her heels, and he came into the world screaming, only falling silent when swaddled in cloth in the arms of his father. The superstitious noted that the white raven announcing the end of winter arrived that same day. Just as they came into the world together, they spent their time in it together. Naerys and Maelys grew quickly, bald heads soon turning into full lengths of white. They would babble on with each other for hours, and though the sounds seemed meaningless to those listening, the spark in their violet eyes meant that there had to be some understanding. His youth was divided between King’s Landing and Dragonstone--more the latter, at first, but soon the former took precedence, as his father decided that he must become intimately familiar with the intrigues of court and the quarrels of nobles. There was little of either in Dragonstone. The island always held a special place in his heart, though. It was the salt and the smoke from whence he had come. When he was young, Maelys was far from strong. He was a slight boy, more likely to lose himself in the pages of a Maester’s tome or in the gripes and lives of the serving staff than in the yard. Besides, he far prefered the harp to the sword--one created, the other destroyed. He garnered a reputation of sorts among the servants of both King’s Landing and Dragonstone. When he looked upon them, he didn’t seem to see their birth. If he did, he made no mention of it. All he saw were men and women, each with their own stories to tell, and their own lessons to impart. He learned as much as he could from them, and Naerys and Maelys always seemed to have a gaggle of servant’s children about them, though they would quickly scatter when others approached. Maelys was understanding. His parents, less so. The twins found themselves in King’s Landing in 364 AC, in the middle of winter. Naerys tired of the idle day-to-day affairs of the Red Keep; she craved adventure. When she approached Maelys and told him of her desire to explore the city on their own, he was apprehensive; he had been in the city proper many times, but always under strict supervision, and always in a hurry to one place or the other. That small taste was enough to pique the interest of the older, bolder twin, and it was her constant insistence that finally saw them slip away into the night by themselves, hoods pulled high. Their adventures found them in a small tavern in Flea Bottom--hardly a place for two of Royal birth. They thought themselves covert; they had blackened their hair with coal dust, and the noble mannerisms in their speech had been done away with. Still, there was little they could do to hide the sparkling of their violet eyes, and when one of the men in the corner caught sight of the signet ring on a chain about his neck, their suspicions were confirmed. Naked steel kissed the soft flesh of his neck, and leather assaulted his tongue and muffled his screams as a man who must have been twice his size wrenched him from his seat. Naerys met a similar fate--the hand that wrapped around her throat seemed set to squeeze the life from it, as it drove her down against the wood of the bar. Straining to see, they cut her loose with a message: if the King wanted to see his grandson again, he would deliver a thousand golden dragons to the tavern by sunrise. Only, she didn’t leave. When the hand loosened around her neck, she cocked back her head and flung it forward. The impact against the hard bone of his nose left him even uglier than he already was--a feat which was quite impressive, all things considered. She kicked and bit and screamed. She even managed to draw one of their knives from its sheath, though it quickly found a home in the soft flesh of his thigh. When they gathered her up again, he was quick to exact his vengeance; the knife drew a bloody trail beneath her left eye. Its mark still remains: a wicked, curving affair. The splintering of wood filled their ears, as the body behind the Prince went limp. The sword fell away from his throat, clattering down to the ground, and he seized that opportunity to strike. Spinning about, his slender fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword, bringing it to bear. It wasn’t hard to tell who had swung the stool that had given him his freedom. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years his senior, was tall, with swelling muscles from a difficult life and a shock of brown hair. In that moment, they understood that their fates were now intertwined, if only for the moment. He killed his first man that night. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, the image is still burned into his mind. He had barely used a sword prior to that night--enough to know the basics--and the weapon was not in any way balanced for him, but he was forced to make due. When he saw the arm of the man draw back, knife glimmering in his hand, he acted on instinct. The sword carved a crimson arc, followed by the sick cacophony of the thump of flesh and the clang of metal. The bear of a man turned, and his roar filled the air as the hand that remained clawed out at Maelys. He didn’t think. One moment, they were two. The next, the blade buried in his gut, the look of--resignation? Realization? Maelys still isn’t sure what the word is--claiming his countenance. When he slumped over, he took the sword with him; Maelys didn’t have the stomach to hold the thing any longer. Taking Naerys’s hand in his own, he ran, only dimly conscious of the older boy that followed them. That boy proved himself invaluable. A native of Flea Bottom, it was his wit and his knowledge that saw them escape their pursuers. Finding their way to the Red Keep once more was difficult, but not impossible. At the gate, the men tried to send the boy away, but Maelys would have none of it. Maekar and Aemon were used to being woken in the middle of the night to address crises of some variety, but that did not make them any less livid. When pressed, Maelys lied out of his teeth: it had been his idea to leave the safety of the Keep, and he had strong-armed Naerys into accompanying him. Hard to believe, given their personalities, but he still managed to convince them. His grandfather left punishment in the hands of his father who, in turn, left it in the hands of his mother. Naerys was spared the brunt of it, which was all that mattered to him. The boy, who later introduced himself as Darrik, the son of a humble fisherman, had made a life for himself, though he wouldn’t realize it until later. He spent the next few nights in the Red Keep, bumping elbows with the sorts of folk one would never expect one of his station to meet. The duo became a trio of sorts; Maelys and Naerys shared the bond of birth, and while Darrik could never hope to match that, the bond forged in the flames of that night came close. The incident lit a blaze in Maelys’s heart. It had been her idea to sneak out that night, but it had been his weakness, his ineptitude, that had led to her injury. Aemon spoke at great lengths about sending him to foster with the Lannisters, something that peeved Maelys; he did not like the idea of being sent so far from Naerys. Aemon was not to be swayed. But there were other ways to get what he wanted. Instead of wasting his efforts convincing his father, he instead went straight to King Maekar. For weeks, he was seen as the perfect grandson. When he finally asked a boon of the King, on his thirteenth name-day, it was only natural that it be granted: Maelys wanted to squire under the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, the Sword of the Morning, and he wanted Darrik to do so with him. Maelys took to his duties eagerly. Cleaning his charge’s armor was the price he had to pay to learn greatness. Gone was the frail young boy who would cower at the sight of blood, who would rather gossip with servants than swing a blade. He trained with the dedication of a man possessed; he had been tried, measured, and found wanting. He would never allow that to happen again. In theory, the Ser Edric Dayne had only two squires: Maelys and Darrik. In practice, he had a third. Naerys was inseparable from her twin. When they entered the Yard, she was there just as long, training just as hard. Edric knew better than to speak out against her presence. The sword was never his favorite weapon. He was proficient with it--likely moreso than most--but that prowess took effort, and reminded him too much of the blood he had spilled and the man he had killed. The lance was different. When he picked it up for the first time, it just seemed to make sense. He progressed from quintains to tilts quickly and, to this day, is still renowned for his prowess. He joked that it was inherited--his father had been adept with the lance in his youth, as well. When Grazdan the Gruesome abducted the ruling family of Dorne, pulling the Kingdom into yet another conflict in the Stepstones, Edric was among the knights sent to help liberate the islands. His two legitimate squires were present, and through some deception, his third, as well. Cutting her hair short as a boy’s, the princess slipped into the column. They were halfway to the Stepstones when she finally revealed herself. Maelys knew, of course. Naerys spent every night in his quarters, bundled up in blankets beside him in his bed. There was nothing sexual about it--she had nowhere else to sleep; she was a stowaway, after all. He found solace in her company. He had his first (and only) taste of real war on those godforsaken islands. He was kept towards the rear--Edric was more valuable as a tactician than as another sword--but when the time came to storm Sapphire’s Holdfast, he was in the thick of it. He did not fight--that was not a squire’s job--but he kept his knight supplied with weapons and horses as the battle raged on around them, and as blood pooled underfoot. Naerys and Darrik never left his side. With each other, they were safe. But war was hell all the same. That night, when the conscripted smallfolk set about building funeral pyres for the dead and dying, Naerys and Maelys held each other in their tent. Even with the battle so far removed, the adrenaline coursed through their veins, as they simply sat there, gazing into each other’s eyes. For Maelys, at least, the day was a recognition of his own mortality. No man that had entered that field had hoped to die that day, and yet, they had. He would not leave this world with regrets. They shared their first kiss. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Even when she reeked of death and sweat. Even though that scar--the one he blamed himself for--would forever mar her face. Their return found them face-to-face with a furious grandmother, and an apathetic grandfather. Daena’s maneuvering saw Naerys locked in the Maidenvault for her disobedience. Maelys was set to clean White Sword Tower; in effect, he became the squire of all seven knights for a few short months. He went to bed every night exhausted, and the empty space beside him in bed only mirrored the empty space in his heart.. Naerys’s imprisonment was the first time they had ever truly been apart. It lasted for months, each of them feeling a part had been torn from their hearts. When she finally emerged, their reunion was a passionate one, and though her time in the Maidenvault had made both of them resentful of their grandmother’s influence, things quickly returned to normal. Hours upon hours spent in the yard, spent tilting, swinging, and wrestling with one another. The day came when they finally turned eighteen. That name-day was an eventful one, for after seven nights of Vigil, he was knighted in the Great Sept of Baelor by Ser Edric Dayne. Darrik received the same honor, beginning the Knightly House of “Dragonshield.” Almost as soon as they were able, Naerys and Maelys left the capital; they had spent far too long under the thumb of their grandmother, and they yearned to see the world. They’ve traveled the Seven Kingdoms, taking the same paths as the hedge knights, bouncing from tourney to tourney. Maelys’s skill with a lance proved useful, as he has made a good display of himself in most of them. He even won a handful. Recent Events News of their grandfather’s death finds the twins in Oldtown. No longer able to galavant about the Realm, Maelys must now return to King’s Landing and adopt his new duties post-haste. But he couldn't avoid the yearning of his heart for long. When word reached his ears of a Tourney to be held in Lannisport, sponsored by Lord Gerold Lannister, Maelys left King's Landing, traveling with his most of his family. During the feast preceding the event, he received a favor from Lady Senelle Lannister. Despite promises to win, and promising performances in the rounds prior, Maelys was bested by Ser Theodor Tyrell in the semi-finals. The winning blow--a lance broken upon his helm--saw Maelys fall from his horse at the end of the seventh pass, hanging onto life by a thread. Though the Maesters managed to save his life, he has remained in a coma since, flitting on the border between life and death. Category:House Targaryen Category:Valyrians Category:Characters from the Crownlands